Of Hidden Things
by Shellecah
Summary: Lonely tailor Anders turns ornery when Chester rebuffs his hounding to make friends, and Anders' gal falls deathly ill from soliciting men at the Long Branch, prompting Doc to ward off infection by prescribing to Matt and Chester a painful treatment all too familiar to Kitty.
1. Chapter 1

Chester recoiled as a hard male arm touched him at the bar, and shot the fellow a look from the corner of his eye. "Hello, Chester. Miss Kitty." Kitty gave the tailor a curt nod.

"Anders," said Chester.

"Wish you'd call me Caden. Can I buy you another beer?"

"Don't need another. This 'un's full. Phoebe's here," Chester said.

"Phoebe's sparkin' a fella. Might make her some money, so I won't intrude. Thought I might go fishing tomorrow. Care to come along?" said Anders.

"Ah'm workin' tomorrow," said Chester.

"Looks like to me you do as you please the day long," Anders said.

"I dun please ta go fishin' with you." Chester leaned on the bar and fiddled with his beer mug, too ill at ease to take a drink. Though folks called the tailor good-looking, and maybe he was, Chester disliked meeting his gaze. With a boyish face for his thirty-five years, big shimmering eyes and a red wet mouth, Anders was some two inches shorter than Chester, had broader shoulders and a larger frame on the lean side, sturdy yet not muscled.

"You're an unneighborly one, aren't you. I know you love fishing," said Anders.

"Oh, go sew yourself a suit or somethin'," said Chester.

"Why don't you let me sew one for you. You always wear the same pants and shirt with those scarecrow suspenders. You're never well turned out, even in Sunday best. I can make you some new duds, no charge."

"No thanks." Chester sighed, rubbed his hand over his face and rested it in his palm, blocking out any glimpse of Anders.

Kitty watched as the tailor's girl, Phoebe Wren, rose from her chair, took the hand of the cowboy chatting with her and sashayed to the stairs, winking seductively at Anders as she passed by him with the wrangler in tow. Knowing Chester wouldn't want her to interfere and tell Anders to leave him be, Kitty had kept quiet, hoping Phoebe would soon distract the tailor from plaguing Chester. Tiring fast and in need of his beer, he didn't tell Anders to get lost, and Kitty had to help him out.

"My new girl's settin' by herself, Anders. It's her first night here and she's feeling lonely and a little awkward. Why don't you buy her a drink," said Kitty.

"Well . . . she is kinda pretty. I can talk with her while I wait for Phoebe to finish pleasuring that fella in the room up there. Since Chester's so rude," said Anders.

Chester straightened up and glared at the tailor. "Get outa my sight."

"Don't talk to me that way. I'm trying to be friendly."

"I don't wanna be friends with the likes of you."

"Why not," said Anders. "You think you're better than I am? _You?" _

"_I said get outa my sight." _

"And I said don't talk to me that way."

"I'll talk ta you any way I dang well please, Anders."

Anders lips curved in an ingratiating smile and he put a hand on Chester's shoulder. "Oh, come on, Chester. Let's be friends."

Chester knocked his hand away, and Anders backhanded him. "We'll talk about this some more—" Anders words were cut off as Chester socked his jaw. He returned the punch, and Chester fell.

"You lunatic. Get out of here," said Kitty.

"Can I ever come back?" said Anders.

"_Oh . . . . _Not until you stop hounding Chester, and act like a man instead of a mad beast," said Kitty. Anders stalked out of the barroom.

Chester climbed shakily to his feet. "Sit down, Chester. I'll bring your beer," said Kitty. "I've a mind to tell Matt about him, he don't leave you alone."

"No need botherin' Mr. Dillon 'bout this, Miss Kitty. I kin handle that Caden Anders. Ain't afraid of him. Don't like 'im is all."

"I don't like him either. I'll tell him not to come back here if you want me to, Chester."

"Nah." Chester took a long swallow of beer. "Reckon Anders has a right to drink here same as any man. Some as come here regular are a sight worse 'n him. He jest got it in 'is addled head ta make friends with me, an' tain't to be. Leastways, he's makin' pretend he wants to be friendly. His eyes says he means me harm, maybe."

"I know. That's why I want to tell Matt," said Kitty.

"No, no, now, I'll deal with him myself, Miss Kitty."

"Well, alright. But if he hits you again, Matt's gonna hear about it."

Headed for the Long Branch after his nightly rounds, Matt saw Anders sitting in a chair in front of the marshal's office. "Hello, Anders. Run into some trouble?" said Matt.

"Not particularly. Chester's no trouble to me, not when it comes to fighting," said Anders.

"You fight Chester, did you?"

"Just a scuffle, Marshal. I didn't hurt him."

Matt sat in the chair next to Anders. "Tell me about it," said the marshal.

"It's nothing, really. Sometimes I take a liking to a man, want to be friends. Chester, he doesn't like me, and I got a little too forceful trying to convince him otherwise," said Anders.

Matt looked in silence at the tailor's neatly molded profile, shadowed in the darkness yet visible in the lamplight shining through the office window. Anders glanced nervously at Matt. "Why're you settin' here," said the marshal.

"I'm waiting for Chester, to apologize. So he'll take kindly to me, hopefully."

"He won't wanna see you. Go home to your shop."

"Marshal, this is between me and Chester. You got no right to mix in it."

"Anders, you talk to him again and you'll start another fight. It's my job to keep the peace, so that gives me the right to mix in it. Now go home," said Matt.

Anders stood up. "Will you tell Chester I'm sorry?"

"Sure." Matt watched the tailor move off, then resumed his walk to the Long Branch.

A man approached the marshal from a ways down the boardwalk as a thin elongated shadow in the night, and Matt recognized Chester from his limping gait. "Mr. Dillon."

"Chester. You had a fight with Caden Anders?"

"Yessir. Warn't scarce nothin'."

"He said tell you he's sorry," said Matt.

"Won't hold it 'gainst 'im iffen he leaves me be."

"Anders hounding you, is he?"

"I can take care of myself, Mr. Dillon."

"Alright. I'm goin' to the Long Branch."

"Jest comin' from thar," said Chester. "I'm a l'il wore down from that pest Anders, so um turnin' in earlier 'n usual. Night, Mr. Dillon."

With the trail herds in town at planting season, men crowded the Long Branch after midnight, and Kitty bustled about serving drinks when Matt pushed through the batwings. He moved to the bar and waited.

"Beer, Marshal?" said Sam.

Matt nodded. Kitty appeared beside him and put an empty tray on the bar. "Hello, Kitty." Matt tipped his hat.

"Matt. I'll have a beer, too, Sam. Sit down with me, Matt. I need to get off my feet," said Kitty. She led him to a table near a corner by the bar. She was tired, and Matt's calm steady presence was welcome amid the loud voices and drunken laughter. She sipped her beer and smiled into his eyes, savoring the peace she felt with him. The noise seemed to recede, almost like she and Matt were alone in the barroom.

"Kitty, what do you know about Caden Anders?" said Matt.

She hesitated, remembering she agreed not to tell Matt about Anders unless the tailor hit Chester again. "Chester said they had a fight. Anders is hounding him," said Matt.

"He wouldn't leave Chester alone tonight," said Kitty. "What do I know about Anders? Well, he's the tailor. He's thirty-five years old, and Phoebe Wren is his girl. He doesn't seem to mind her making the extra money. He's friendly in a way, but I don't like him, Matt, and not only because he bothers Chester. There's something about Anders, like he keeps bad things caged up inside him."

"That's the impression I get from 'im," said Matt. "I just hope none of those bad things escape. Do you know where he's from?"

"Phoebe said Anders grew up on a farm near Nebraska City. His father never paid him much attention on account of Anders loved sewing and knitting. Fancy needlework and all. His pa didn't yell or hit him or punish him that way. Anders said he wasn't mistreated; his pa just thought he was an embarrassment. He liked arm wrestling and foot races well enough, but he took part in quilting and embroidery circles, too," said Kitty.

"Mm-hmm. I want an eye kept on him," said Matt. "Watch him around Chester, will you, Kitty?"

_**C**_*****************************************************************

Naturally a late riser, if Chester happened to waken in time, he fixed coffee for the marshal's early arrival. Matt had not yet come in when boot steps in the jailhouse roused Chester from his sleep. He knew Mr. Dillon's tread like his own, and those steps belonged to another man.

Clad in his underwear, Chester sat up to see who the visitor was, and his eyes widened as he grabbed the blanket and covered himself. The tailor stood just inside the threshold, holding the doorknob. He closed the door hard, and the sound resonated in Chester's ears. "What did you slam the door for?" said Chester.

"I didn't. You just woke so your hearing is sensitive."

"What're you doin' here."

Anders grinned. "Well, you're surly in the morning. Did the marshal give you my apologies?"

"You shouldn't oughter be sech a pest, Anders. You oughtn't troubled Mr. Dillon with that 'ere."

"I want to patch things up, take you to breakfast."

"No thanks. Why don't you git outa here. I got work to do," said Chester.

"Chester, I'm getting awful tired of you talking to me like I'm a cur."

Scowling, Chester threw aside the blanket and jumped up. "Well, maybe I cain't tell the difference," he gritted in a low tone.

Anders took a step closer to him, and the door opened. Anders froze and pivoted to face the marshal. Matt shut the door and looked from the tailor's squarish soft-edged visage, wide across the cheekbones, to Chester's lean strained face. Anders looked flushed. Chester snatched up his pants and shirt and quickly dressed.

"Anders," said Matt.

"Marshal."

"Help you with anything?" said Matt.

"He was jest leavin'," said Chester, buttoning his shirt. "Weren't you, Anders."

Anders glanced at Chester, looked again at Matt, straightened his shoulders and lifted his cleft jaw. "I came to ask Chester to breakfast," he said.

"I need Chester here this morning," said Matt.

"You put him to work before he has a chance to eat?" said Anders.

"That's none of your worry," said Matt.

"Well, Chester is his own man. Why not let him decide if he wants to dine with me."

"I tole you no a'ready, Anders," Chester said quietly.

"Fine. How about lunch, then."

"_No. Iffen you dun leave me be, ah'll split yer head open." _

"Chester," said Matt. "Make some coffee, will you. Come on outside, Anders."

"Don't you go troublin' Mr. Dillon, neither," said Chester. Matt led the tailor a few steps away, halting just past the marshal's office.

"I didn't mean to rile him, Marshal. I only wanted some company for breakfast," said Anders.

"Why don't you ask Phoebe?" said Matt.

"Phoebe's been working all night with the cattle drives coming through. It's one trail hand after another. They spend the night in the rooms waiting their turn. She sleeps all morning, doesn't get up 'til two hours past noon at least," said Anders.

"Doesn't that bother you, Anders? You can talk to her, you know, try and get her to slow down," Matt said.

"Why should I? Phoebe's making a pile of money. She says she'll stop when she has enough saved to live on without holding a job."

"She won't live long enough to spend the money if she keeps it up," said Matt.

"Phoebe does what she wants to do, Marshal. I couldn't talk her out of it if I tried."

"What do you want from Chester," said Matt.

Anders reddened. "Nothing, Marshal. I have no friends in Dodge except my girl Phoebe, and she's always working like I said. The other saloon gals don't count. Their, ur, friendliness only extends as far as the dollars in my wallet. Chester's obliging and I thought he might take to me, but he appears to have an aversion to me instead."

"Then why do you keep pestering him?" said Matt.

"I figure I might change his mind if I'm nice enough."

"Quit hounding him."

The tailor's face twisted, one corner of his mouth turning up. "With a lawman like you, it's no wonder people here are cold and hard. Even Miss Kitty, beautiful woman that she is. The townsfolk are rough as a pack of wild animals. And a lot of 'em are small-minded idiots, too."

"You don't like it here, get out," said Matt.

"Not before I even the score," said Anders.

"You've got no score to settle with anyone in Dodge," Matt said.

"That all depends on how you and Chester treat me from here on in. You're a smart man, Marshal. You know right from wrong when it comes to being neighborly, unlike most of the dirty mindless dregs in this town. And Chester. They're not fit to lick his boots. I expect more from you two is all," said Anders.

"Anders, Chester is a close friend of mine. I don't like seeing my friends harassed. He wants nothing to do with you, and he has that right."

"Well, too bad for him. I've had enough of men no better than I am turning their noses up. His book-learning doesn't touch mine, and he's just a jailer."

"Leave him alone, Anders."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you'll answer to me."

"Maybe I don't care what you do to me," said Anders.

"Uh-huh. I can see that," said Matt.

"What the deuce do you mean?" said Anders.

"I won't fight you, Anders. I won't throw one punch at you."

"You might have to," said Anders.

"Forget it. It's not gonna happen," said Matt. "Stay away from Chester or I'll jail you 'til you agree to leave town."

"You can't do that. It's not legal."

"Hound Chester again and you'll find out what I can do."

"This is not over, Marshal. You are way out of your place." The tailor stalked away.

His boots planted apart on the boardwalk, Matt adjusted his hat and put his hands in his pockets, watching Anders depart. Matt hoped the threat to jail the tailor was sufficient to stop him from hounding Chester, but the marshal doubted it. Anders was sick in the head as Matt figured it. Such a man was like a stick of dynamite waiting for someone to light his fuse.


	2. Chapter 2

The hankering to go fishing which took hold on Chester come spring thaw prodded him as the sun shone warmer and the days grew longer. No recluse, he'd fish with a friend if he had his druthers, but since the cattle drives hit Dodge, Mr. Dillon only left town when duty called him away. The Long Branch was always crowded these days and Miss Kitty went out just for meals and errands, while Doc stayed busy from sunup 'til long after nightfall, digging out bullets, patching wounds from knives and fists, treating quinsy and delivering babies.

Chester recollected Caden Anders asking him to go fishing. Anders' big gleaming eyes stared too hard, and he was peskier than a trapped horsefly.

Though women who held no attraction for Chester troubled him betimes to be their beau, a man had never plagued him past tolerable for his friendship until Anders saw him at Delmonico's, said hello and chatted at him just a quick minute, for he shied from the fellow directly they met. Chester sensed brute force beneath the tailor's fine looks and faintly smiling face, and somewhat else, like the strange sounds of an unknown animal hidden in the shrubbery.

Were Anders a woman, Chester would swallow his irritation, put her off gently, encourage her to find a better man than the likes of him, feel sorry for her and maybe a little flattered. As the tailor was a man, though, Chester thought only that Anders was forceful and bigger than himself, if a couple of inches shorter.

Lying in the sun on the bank of Rattlesnake Creek with a fishing pole cut from a sycamore, his hat atop his forehead, Chester felt a bit lonely yet easy and comfortable. He heard a soft whinny and a horse loping toward him. Maybe the rider would stop to water his horse and chat.

Chester looked at the rider and startled. Anders had reined in a few yards from the creek bank and looked somberly down from the saddle. Chester dropped his pole and stood up. "What're you doin' here, Anders."

"I tracked you." Anders grinned and dismounted. Chester glanced at his shotgun in the scabbard on his horse tied to the sycamore. Anders looked at the shotgun, and adjusted the six-shooter in its holster under his ice-blue suit jacket.

"You're scared," said the tailor, smiling. "I don't want to hurt you. I didn't really track you. I'm no good at that sort of thing. I saw you ride out and figured you were headed for a fishing hole. I knew old Grimmick wouldn't tell me which one on account of he hates me. I guessed from the direction you went in." Chester stared with narrowed eyes.

Anders took two steps closer to him, and he resisted the urge to back away. "You won't tell Marshal Dillon I followed you? He threatened to jail me until I agree to leave Dodge if I don't leave you alone."

"I ain't gonna bother Mr. Dillon 'bout a nuisance like you," said Chester.

"I'm trying to be a friend, not a nuisance."

"Yer no friend; that's sure."

"You won't let me be a friend," said Anders. "Mind if I fish with you a spell?"

"Yeah. I mind plenty."

Anders led his horse to the sycamore and tied the reins to a branch, pulled a knife and started cutting a fishing pole. Chester sighed and moved to the tree to untie his horse.

The tailor dropped his knife and stood between Chester and his horse. "You're not leaving," said Anders.

"Get outa my way, Anders."

"Make me."

Chester moved to walk around Anders, who grabbed his shoulders and slung him to the ground. _"You creeping piece of dung!" _Chester yelled from his back in the grass.

Anders drew back his boot for a kick, and Chester sat up, caught his ankle and yanked. As he fell, Chester scrambled to his feet, took the tailor under the arms and dragged him to the creek. He thrashed around as Chester clung to him, jerking Anders over the ground with all his strength made greater by fury.

The two men splashed into the creek. Chester surfaced and held Anders under. Anders' dark eyes distended as he struggled. Mad as Chester was, he had no thought of drowning Anders. Beyond stopping the man's hounding, Chester knew he had to subdue Anders to defend himself, which he doubted he could do with his fists.

Anders hand fumbled frantically at his gun butt, and as he drew the weapon, Chester gripped his wrist, slamming it into the creek bed. His fingers opened and the gun floated away. Anders' lips parted, his eyes closed and he went limp.

Chester pulled him up by his jacket lapels, and his head flopped back. Chester dragged him onto the creek bank and sat him up, tugging his arms so he leaned forward, his head nearly touching his knees. Prompted by a gut urge, Chester repeatedly slapped Anders' back. Anders let out a long rumbling belch, his eyes opened and he gagged. Water gushed from his mouth and nose and he coughed, then fell back gasping.

Chester went back in the water for their hats, put his on and dropped Anders' hat on his belly. "You almost drowned me. You're a fiend," Anders panted.

Chester untied and mounted his horse. "I'll get you for this," said Anders as he lay on the ground.

"Well, I'm real scared," said Chester. He turned his horse toward Dodge and rode away, deciding not to tell the marshal. Mr. Dillon had enough on his hands with the trail herds. Chester would fight his own battles this time.

When he saw Anders afterward at Delmonico's or the Long Branch, the tailor merely fixed him with a brooding stare. Anders quit hounding and no longer spoke to Chester, but the large dark eyes boring into him made him almost as uneasy as the hounding.

Mr. Dillon, Doc and Miss Kitty were so busy these days that Chester found himself without company more often than not. Even Moss couldn't take the time for as much as a game of checkers. It was so every spring, and again at harvest season.

Few trail drives came through Dodge in the heat of summer, when creeks on the plains dried up, water in the wells ran low and the town had none to spare for thirsty cattle. And the herds stopped again when autumn passed and the winter freeze set in. Summer and winter, the marshal, Chester and Miss Kitty passed the time together most of the day until late at night, and though Doc worked hard the year round, he at least had no drovers to tend over the hot and cold seasons, and spent long hours with his friends.

Now though, at planting season, Chester felt alone in the raucous town. He sat in the Long Branch at sundown and sipped a beer while Miss Kitty served drinks and chatted with the men.

Anders stood at the bar with his girl Phoebe Wren. The barroom was too noisy to hear what they said, but Chester knew the two were talking about him as they kept looking at him.

Phoebe picked up two beers and approached his table as Anders leaned on the bar, watching. "Hello, Chester," said Phoebe. A pretty woman of twenty-six years, she had a light voice, a graceful form and delicate features like a little girl's.

"Phoebe." Chester touched his hat brim.

"Mind if I join you?" said Phoebe. "I bought you another beer." She pulled out a chair and sat across from him. The scents of Pear soap and honeysuckle perfume wafted round her. Chester knew, as did most men in Dodge, that Phoebe was a woman of the night, and she worked hard at her profession. Unlike many such women, she looked fresh and sweet, and even younger than she was. Her creamy complexion was perfect, and her body with its slender curves taut yet soft. Her silver-gray eyes were clear and bright, and the fine straight hair she despaired of curling shone like brown silk.

"Caden's been distressing you awfully and I'm sorry," she said.

" 'Tain't none a yer fault, and he oughtn't trouble you 'bout it. He's jest ta blame," said Chester.

"I know. You did nothing to deserve him troubling you the way he has," said Phoebe. "Caden doesn't mean to be so horridly bothersome. Times he takes a shine to a body and wants so much to be friends, he can't get it out of his head."

"With a pretty girl like you, he don't need to pine for no man what don't make friendly with 'im. He's a fool," said Chester.

"I don't think he can help it," said Phoebe.

"Well then, he's addled. He oughter pay a visit to the parson."

"He said you don't want him to talk to you anymore, so he asked me to tell you he's sorry," said Phoebe.

"I ain't holdin' it 'gainst 'im long as he leaves me be. Wisht he'd quit starin' at me all the time, too," said Chester.

"Caden paid for a gift to give you, Chester. To make up for plaguing you. Caden and I calculate you won't refuse it this time."

"I most surely will refuse it. Jest you take it right on back to 'im," said Chester.

Phoebe smiled. "I am the gift, Chester."

"He oughter be ashamed of hisself. You're his girl."

"I am your girl for a spell." Phoebe rose, sat on Chester's lap, wrapped her bare arms around his neck and kissed him. "Let's go upstairs," she said.

He couldn't think that moment on being beholden to Anders. Chester wanted Phoebe too much to consider anything else. She got off his lap and took his hand.

Standing at the far end of the bar from the stairs, Kitty watched Chester and Phoebe go up together. Kitty looked at Anders, who also watched them, leering.

"_Kitty. _Now what in this place can mesmerize you so you can't hear me say howdy."

"Oh. Hello, Doc. Take a look. Top of the stairs," said Kitty.

Doc looked up as Chester followed Phoebe into a room. "That's Phoebe Wren, isn't it? Chester has good taste. I know whereof I speak." Doc winked at Kitty and sniggered.

"So does just about every man in town. Not that I'm complaining. She's great for business. I think she really wants Chester to feel better, but I'm worried she'll make things worse for him with that Caden Anders," said Kitty.

"Nothing to worry about there. Anders can't be a jealous sort, seeing how enthusiastically Phoebe plies her trade. Give me a beer if you would, Sam," said Doc.

"Doc, Chester has no money for that," said Kitty. "He didn't even have a dime for a beer. And Phoebe never gives herself free. Anders has to pay, and he's her beau. Anders must've paid Phoebe to go upstairs with Chester."

"Why would Anders do that? He's no friend of Chester's," said Doc.

"No, but he wants like crazy to be Chester's friend. He kept hounding Chester until Matt threatened to lock him up and not turn 'im loose unless he left town. This is Anders' way of making Chester owe him," said Kitty.

"Chester don't owe him a durn thing," said Doc. "Chester can't resist a woman like Phoebe. Not many men can. That Anders is an odd duck. There's something menacing under those wholesome good looks of his. I don't like him turning his attention on Chester, no sir."

"I'm telling Matt when he stops by after his rounds," said Kitty.

Tired after his private visit with Phoebe, Chester left the Long Branch earlier than usual, went home to the jailhouse and lay on his bunk with three frontier penny books. The books were shorter than dime novels and easier to read, and he reckoned to fall asleep on the third one.

When Matt pushed through the batwings after his patrol, Anders was playing cards, Phoebe had returned to her room with her second man since Chester, and Doc had gone to his rooms for the night. Kitty sat down with Matt and told him about Chester going upstairs with the gal. "You gonna fight Anders, Matt?" said Kitty, seeing the marshal's face harden and his normally affable blue eyes darken and grow cold as he regarded Anders.

"Not if I can keep from it," said Matt.

"Why not? You could at least hit 'im once. Knock some sense into him," said Kitty.

"I'll try talking sense into him peaceful like," said the marshal, though his knuckles itched to chop Anders a hard one. Matt didn't tell Kitty what Anders said when ordered to stay away from Chester, that the tailor might not care if Matt tussled with him.

Matt moved to the table where Anders sat at cards. "Marshal. Play a hand?"

"No thanks. I need a word with you, Anders. At the bar."

"Sure." Anders tossed his cards on the table and moved with Matt to the bar.

"Did you pay for Chester to go upstairs with Phoebe tonight?" said Matt.

"Yes, I did. I felt bad for hounding Chester, and wanted to make it up to him. Phoebe was my peace offering," said Anders.

"I told you to leave him alone," said Matt.

Anders hesitated, looked searchingly at Matt and shifted his eyes away. Matt guessed something else had happened between Anders and Chester, and Anders wondered if the marshal knew about it. Whatever took place, Chester had concealed it from Matt.

"I said nothing to Chester tonight," Anders cautiously replied. "I arranged it through Phoebe."

"And you think Chester owes you now?" said Matt.

"Well . . . Phoebe doesn't come cheap. It'd be nice if Chester was a little neighborly to me in return," said Anders.

"Anders, using Phoebe as your go-between is just a roundabout way of gettin' at Chester. He doesn't owe you friendship or anything else. No more peace offerings, or I'll have to tell you to leave town, and jail you 'til you do," said Matt.

Anders set his cleft jaw, his dark eyes smoldering defiantly at the marshal, who saw he was not daunted in the least. The man harbored the sort of frustrated anger that fed on itself and exploded like a gorged gut that can hold no more.

Chester would have to reveal what occurred with Anders and himself before his room visit with Phoebe. Matt went to the office and found his friend in bed, an open book resting on his face. He stirred when Matt came in, and the book fell on the floor.

"Mr. Dillon." Chester sat up and yawned, rubbed his face and scrubbed his head with his fingertips so his hair stood on end. "You want I should fix some coffee?" he mumbled.

"No thanks." Matt sat on the end of Chester's cot. "Chester, did something happen with you and Anders that I don't know about?" Chester started slightly, lowered his head and blushed. "I don't mean Phoebe," said Matt.

Chester met Matt's gaze. "I jest 'bout drowned 'im."

"_Drowned _'im," said Matt.

"Yes, sir. Anders follered me when I rode out fishin' to Rattlesnake Creek. He wanted to set with me. So I git up ta leave an' he stands front a my horse 'n says yer not leavin', an' I says git out ma way. Then he says make me. I tried to walk round 'im an' he throwed me down and makes to kick me, so I grab a holt 'is foot an' down he goes."

Chester heaved a sigh. "I jest riled up somethin' fierce, Mr. Dillon. I drug 'im in the creek 'n held 'im under, an' he most drowned. I was powerful scared I kilt 'im. I drug 'im back out the water an' bent 'im over and smacked 'is back, an' he come back ta life. He said he'd git me whilst I rode away. An' that's all what done happened. Can you maybe not run Anders outa town jest yet, Mr. Dillon? He might bring charges against me if you tell 'im to leave Dodge."

"Alright," said Matt. "But be careful, Chester. Keep a sharp eye out for Anders."

Chester yawned. "Cain't rightly keep an eye sharp out when um sleepin'."

"I'm minded to spend the nights here at the office a spell," said Matt.

"No need for that, Mr. Dillon. I kin handle that Anders right enough."

Matt grinned. "Well, you sure took care of his hide at Rattlesnake Creek."

If Matt thought hard on it, he could grasp at why Anders craved Chester's friendship. Chester was at heart a friend; that was his nature, more so than any man Matt knew. Anders seemed to have no male friends, likely on account of he wanted them too much. Phoebe apparently was his one friend in Dodge, and she was too busy soliciting men to have much time for her beau.

The Anders case was fraught with perilous uncertainties. Though Matt could not predict if Anders would erupt or when, the marshal felt sure he'd spew any bile he let loose at Chester. Only Chester's touchiness in regards to taking care of himself kept Matt from spending his nights at the office indefinitely.

As he walked through the warm darkness on the way to his rooming house, Matt passed Anders' tailoring shop. Lamplight shone on the Front Street boardwalk at the front of the shop, though the ground floor inside was dark. The marshal looked up to the second level and saw Anders, fully dressed to his collar, tie and suit jacket, holding the draperies aside and staring from the window at Matt.

Matt halted, seeing no hint of the usual slightly smiling expression on Anders' sullen face. The dark eyes fixed on Matt through the window above clearly showed a look of ill will. Had Anders intended to unleash his pent-up anger directly on the marshal, Matt would not have worried. The tailor carried a gun like most men in Dodge, but like most, he was no gunman. About six feet tall, Anders was some seven inches shorter than Matt, not as big, and likely no fighter either.

Matt figured the tailor wouldn't challenge him, that Anders planned to target Chester. Although when powered by his own anger, he'd subdued Anders by surprise at Rattlesnake Creek, Chester was hardly equipped to defend himself against the man's unhinged wrath, and Matt had no notion when or how Anders would wreak vengeance on Chester for wrongs existing only in the tailor's addled head.

Barely blinking, Anders held his stare from the upstairs window of his shop, so Matt walked on a few steps past the shop, stopped and looked up at the window again, met the large hostile eyes still fixed on him, and continued on to his rooming house. Nearly an hour after midnight, Anders remained awake wearing his street clothes, though he opened for business at nine in the morning. Worriment would keep Matt from sleeping the night long; of that he was sure.

Matt and Chester rarely locked the marshal's office, on account of they might need to get in or out fast. Matt did not think to tell Chester to lock the doors that night, and Chester didn't think to lock them. Though he normally slept in his underwear, tonight he lay atop the blanket with all his clothes on to his boots and suspenders, which made him feel surer and ready for anything in the hours before sunup and Mr. Dillon's return.

Chester slept fitfully that night. A noise woke him whenever he drifted off—a dog barking, the tinny music of a player piano from an all-night saloon, a faint sound of drunken laughter.

He tossed on his bunk, and was facing the wall when he heard the front door open and close. He swiftly turned over and jumped up. The full moon and starlight shone through the windows, illuminating Anders' sturdy form standing in the room.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hello, Chester. Scared of me again? Well, this time you have reason to be," said Anders.

"I ain't done nothin' to you, Anders."

"_Huh. _I suppose almost drowning me at Rattlesnake Creek is nothing."

"That was self-defense. An' I saved you after."

"Sure you did. So you wouldn't go to prison," said Anders.

"What do you want with me, Anders."

"I wanted to be your friend, Chester. But I know I never will."

"So why're you here," said Chester. Anders took off his gun belt and put it on the table.

Chester sighed. "You wanna fight?" Anders did not mean to kill him leastways. Chester figured he might get bunged up though, as Anders was the bigger man, if a tad shorter. Maybe pummeling Chester would rid Anders of his anger, though Chester hoped he could fend the pummeling off somewhat. He wished he had strong fists and a whole working knee in his right leg.

Anders smiled crookedly, like he'd just won a hefty pot at cards and cheated to do it. His fine red mouth glistened wetly and his dark eyes gleamed. He made Chester feel like a trapped rabbit.

Anders closed the space between himself and Chester in two swift steps and shoved him. He fell back on the bunk and Anders leaped on top of him, grinning. Chester wrapped his hands around Anders' throat and squeezed. Choking, Anders yanked at Chester's wrists and punched him, loosening his grip. Anders pulled Chester's hands away from his neck and struck him again.

Chester grabbed two handfuls of Anders' curling dark hair and jerked, banging his head against the wall. Anders hammered Chester's face and head with both fists, and Chester's hands fell away from Anders' hair and swatted at his assailant.

Anders' face blurred as Chester weakened. He felt his arms pinned to the mattress, and Anders' face, wreathed in fog, moved close to his. Then the face pulled back into the mist clouding Chester's eyes as the tailor turned his head. Chester felt a cool breeze in the room and Anders scrambled up off him.

Matt pushed the door closed and stood still a moment, facing Anders, who backed away from him. Anders lunged for the door and Matt grabbed him by his suit jacket lapels, swung him round clear of the bunk and the table, and hit him. Anders fell and lay motionless on the floor.

Chester sat up on the bed, blinking the fog away. His face throbbed and stung, and he felt the trickle of blood on his skin. "Chester." Matt put a hand on his shoulder.

"I'll be alright, Mr. Dillon. He bunged up ma face some is all. Ain't nothin' busted."

Matt lit the lamp and looked at Chester. Cuts bled on both sides of his face, he had a cut lip and a gash near his right eye, and his face was reddened and starting to swell in spots. He looked dazed.

Matt wet a cloth and handed it to Chester. "Mop up and rest easy a minute while I take care of Anders, and I'll walk you to Doc's."

Matt filled the dipper and dashed the water in Anders' face. Anders came to, coughing and snorting. "Get up," Matt ordered.

Anders struggled to obey. "You knocked me out," he said. "I'm muddled."

Matt leaned over, took hold of Anders' arm and pulled him to his feet. Chester looked at the cloth stained with his blood, and turned his brown eyes on the tailor. Anders glanced at Chester, and looked warily back to Matt.

"You want to bring charges against him, Chester?" said the marshal.

"Not long as he leaves town. I dun wanna tend to 'im in jail. Dun wanna look at 'im at all," said Chester.

"I'll give you 'til noon, Anders," said Matt. "Settle up on your shop at the bank, take leave of Phoebe and get out of Dodge. And don't ever come back."

"I won't say 'bye to Phoebe," said Anders, strapping on his gun belt. She'll just be mad when she finds out what I did to Chester. She's fond of him. And I will leave Dodge, Marshal. I can leave easy in my mind now. I evened the score, if not quite to my satisfaction." Anders put on his hat and gave Matt a taunting grin.

Matt backhanded him and Anders staggered, tripping over his own boots. Matt steadied him with a hand on his jacket collar, strong-armed him to the door and pushed him outside. Matt and Chester watched as Anders stumbled past the window.

"Can you make it to Doc's, Chester?" said Matt.

"Yeah." Chester rose from the bunk and Matt gave him his hat.

"How'd you know ta come help me, Mr. Dillon?" said Chester as they walked to Doc's.

"I saw Anders at the upstairs window of his shop," said Matt. "He was dressed to go out, late as it was, and he watched me as I passed by, like he waited to see me go to my room for the night."

"You come jest in time . . . maybe," said Chester, his voice strained. "That Anders is plumb addled. Ain't like he had no one keepin' 'im company. Pretty as Phoebe is, an' she knows how to give a man lovin'. He oughtn't minded not bein' friends with no man. He's crazy."

"He's a different sort. That's what addles him," said Matt. "Don't trouble yourself about him anymore, Chester. He'll be gone in a few hours."

"He's stuck in my head howsoever. Haveta think hard on gittin' shet of 'im," said Chester.

Doc gave Chester a double dose of laudanum, stitched his lip and the gash under his eye, cleaned his other cuts and sprinkled healing powder while Matt watched attentively from the desk chair. "You'll have some bruising and swelling, Chester," said Doc. "Stay abed a day, maybe two. Give your body a chance to heal from the shock. I'll let you know when to go back to work." Doc shook his head. "I knew that Anders fella was dangerous."

"I ain't stayin' bedrid here," said Chester.

"You need somewhere quiet to rest. Your nerves are worn," said Doc. Chester was more fidgety than usual. There was a tremor in his hands when Doc gave him a cup of water, and tension in his voice.

"He can stay at my room, Doc. I'll sleep at the office," said Matt.

Doc took a bottle labeled _Cognac Brandy _from his medicine cabinet. "This will help us all sleep," he said, filling three whiskey glasses. "Be sunup before too long."

Matt normally sent Chester to keep an eye out for men told to get out of Dodge. If Chester reported the fellow in town past his leaving time, the marshal ran him out. As Chester was taking it easy in Matt's room on Doc's orders to rest, and seeing Anders again would likely hurt Chester's recovery, the marshal himself sat on a bench a short ways from the tailor's shop early in the morning and waited for Anders to come out.

An hour passed and Anders emerged from the shop, headed down Front Street and stopped when he saw Matt. "Anders," said the marshal.

"You said noon. I have five hours before the stage leaves," said Anders.

"That's right. And I'll be at the depot to make sure you're on it," said Matt.

"Is Chester alright?" Anders asked.

"Doc's taking care of him," said Matt. "Never mind him, Anders. You'll never see him again."

"Never is a long time, Marshal. Seems after all the misery I bought on Chester's head, I could at least say I'm sor—."

"No more apologies," Matt interrupted. "Tend to your business and have your hide on the noon stage when it leaves Dodge."

"Don't worry, I will. This town and most everyone in it stinks, including you and Chester. You got nerve looking down those long snouts of yours at folks on account of they aren't the same as you. Dodge is a pen of swine, and you are pigs wallowing in the mud," Anders sneered.

Matt rose from the bench and loomed over the tailor. "Anders, you're near as foul as the worst of us. Now get your carcass movin' before I do somethin' about the stench." Anders sidled round Matt and hurried away, glancing fearfully over his shoulder at the marshal.

When the noon stage left the depot, Anders leaned out the coach window, mimed holding a gun, pointed his forefinger at Matt and crooked it, squeezing the imaginary trigger as he pursed his moist red mouth and puffed his lips at the marshal. The lips formed a silent oath and Anders gazed at Matt as the stage rolled away, his large dark eyes glimmering. He had the decency at least not to utter the oath aloud with ladies in the coach.

The marshal headed for his room to tell his friend that Anders was gone, figuring the knowing might help Chester mend and lift his spirits. Matt found his room crowded. Chester sat on the bed as Doc cleaned the wounds on his face. Kitty sat in a chair at the bedside, and Phoebe sat close by Chester on the bed, stroking his hair as Doc tended him.

Phoebe appeared to have suffered no ill effects at the sudden departure of her beau without so much as a goodbye. For a hardworking woman of the night, she had intelligent eyes, which regarded Chester with a lively warmth, her creamy smooth skin flushed.

They all said hello to Matt, who returned their greetings and sat on the bed at Phoebe's other side. She wore a modest green-sprigged lawn dress with a matching sun bonnet hanging down her back, and looked fresh, sweet and girlish. With her delicate features and slender soft curves, she was the sort of genial young woman that attracted Chester, and Matt figured Chester would eagerly court her if not for the job she pursued with such relish.

Matt had succumbed to Phoebe's charms last summer in Dodge while Kitty visited friends in New Orleans. Phoebe confessed to Kitty on her return, and Kitty told Matt she knew. And that she didn't care. "Phoebe beds most every man who sets foot in Dodge, Matt," Kitty had airily said. "You were just another twenty dollars to her." If Phoebe was cheap, she didn't come cheap.

To punish Matt for sharing Phoebe's bed, Kitty luridly related her own tryst with a strikingly handsome New Orleans fellow she'd kept company with when she was sixteen. She wasn't given to lying, and the marshal saw she spoke truthfully. Matt pushed the recollection from his head.

Demurely dressed as Phoebe was, he was keenly aware of her nearness. He looked at Kitty, who rather sulkily watched him. She knew he felt drawn to Phoebe. Matt hoped Kitty wouldn't turn him down at nightfall, when he planned to suggest passing the time in her room.

"I just saw Anders off on the stage. He won't be comin' back to Dodge," said Matt.

"_Good," _said Phoebe. "You did well running Caden out, Marshal. I hope Chester and I never see him again. I hate what he did to Chester." Her small hand with its long pink-painted nails moved from Chester's hair and rubbed his back. He looked blissful under her caresses even as Doc probed the swollen bruises on his face and applied stinging carbolic acid to the cuts made by Anders' knuckles.

"Don't fret none 'bout it, Phoebe. You make me feel some better, bein' so obligin' an' all," said Chester. He smiled, and winced as a thread of blood trickled from his stitched lip.

"Just suck on that lip a minute, Chester," said Doc. He dusted his patient's face with healing powder.

"By golly, Doc, I'm fixin' ta sneeze," said Chester.

"Hold it in," Doc ordered. "It'll make everything bleed."

Chester sucked in a deep breath, frowning in concentration, then relaxed. "It's gone," he said.

Doc patted Chester's shoulder, and scooped soft soap from a tin to clean his hands in the wash basin. "That Anders fella is a no-count butcher," said Doc. "I will never understand what makes someone hound an innocent person to the point of violence, man or woman."

"Anders wanted a friend too much," said Chester. "I jest dint cotton to 'im is all. Cain't git the drift of why he pined for no man friend when he had you, Phoebe. Any feller with a grain of sense in 'is head wouldn't never feel lonely with you fer 'is girl, were there no one else a hundred miles."

Phoebe smiled and gave Chester a gentle kiss. "No better medicine than _that," _said Doc. "I calculate his mouth will heal twice as fast as usual for that sort of wound."

"Matt, you should've killed Anders last night," said Kitty. "If he was buried on Boot Hill, we'd know he'd never hound Chester or anyone again."

Matt grinned. "And I'd join Anders on Boot Hill in short order if I killed 'im. On account of I'd get the noose."

"No," Kitty argued. "Only you and Chester would know you did it, and he'd never tell, would you, Chester."

"My heavens no," said Chester.

"I'd never tell if I saw you kill 'im, Matt," said Doc. "Might even killed him myself."

"Aw you would not, Doc," said Chester.

"Well, maybe not. At any rate, I'd try to save him after I shot 'im," said Doc.

Phoebe took Chester's hand and held it in both of hers, her pretty face softening as she considered, and Chester reddened beneath his purplish bruises. "Anders is a tragically lonely man," said Phoebe. "Like there's a hole in his heart, and the loving I gave him just spilled out. Some women need a woman now and then, no matter if she has a man. I don't know what I'd do without my gal friends to talk to and go places with and cuddle up with. Dress each other and such like. And even if he has a woman, some men need a man to play cards and checkers and pool. Go fishing with, talk about what men do. I find out these things, my job being what it is."

"Doc made us a pot of coffee, and Phoebe brought in sugar and cream," said Kitty.

"Store-bought white sugar cubes and cream fresh from Mrs. Smalley's cow," said Phoebe. "I shall do the pouring out! And Mrs. Smalley sent a baking of molasses cookies with walnuts for Chester. Still warm from the oven."

"For everyone to share," said Chester.

_**C**__*******************************************************************************_

Though Phoebe looked like a blooming young girl, she was not well. Symptoms of Bone-ache came and went, and she suffered bouts of Bilious Fever. The diseases would abate with Doc's treatment, and he warned her to give up servicing men as a profession if she wanted to live past thirty.

"I will never see thirty, Doc," Phoebe said pragmatically, "or even twenty-nine. It's alright. Nothing is holding me in this dark world."

Doc had no answer for her, as he knew she spoke truth. A month after Anders left Dodge, Phoebe was struck with a severe attack of Bilious Fever and died a fortnight later at age twenty-six. Chester gathered white spider lilies for her grave and cried at her burial.

The next day, Kitty heard a morbid account of Anders' fate from Sam, who got it from a drover stopping at the Long Branch on his way through Dodge on his return to San Antonio following a trail drive to Oregon. Phoebe's death and the cool, rainy spring day gave Kitty a taste for hearing and relating the gruesome incident, and to give her something to look forward to, she saved the tale until she met Matt, Doc and Chester for supper at Delmonico's.

"So according to Sam, this trail hand said Anders introduced himself in a Portland saloon," said Kitty. "Asked if he could buy the cowboy a drink and set and chat a spell."

"Oh," said Chester. "My gracious."

"Yeah," said Kitty. "Well, there was something about poor addled Anders that the drover did not take to at all."

"I think we can guess what that something was," said Matt.

"Mm-hmm." Kitty nodded and paused for a big bite of steak with mushrooms and wild onions. "Sam said the cowboy's a good-looking charming sort, so it makes sense. He kinda felt sorry for Anders, but decided against drinkin' with him.

"So Anders commenced weeping real loud, like a young 'un having a tantrum. A shocking scene of hysterics. He fell on the floor in a mad fit, and some of the men carried him to the doctor's office. The doctor gave him a morphine injection with a dose of chloral hydrate—"

"Good heavens," Doc interrupted. "Morphine and chloral hydrate. That finished the poor fella off, right, Kitty?"

"Well, the Portland doc said in hindsight that mixing the narcotics likely led to Anders' quick merciful end. The doc soothed him while he fell asleep and sank into coma, but his death was recorded as malignant infection from French pox," said Kitty.

"I might've known it. The pox causes derangement," said Doc.

Chester, who reveled in morbid tales even in the best of spirits on warm sunny days, listened in fascination. "Poor lonesome feller. I feel for 'is end, now that ma face is mended from him poundin' it. I coulda let 'im buy me one drink, maybe, chatted with him a l'il."

"He'd just hounded you worse if you did, Chester. I don't see how you could've handled Anders any other way," said Kitty.

"Kitty's right, Chester. I wouldn't fret on it," said Matt.

"Course you shouldn't fret on it, Chester," said Doc. "Folks have a right to choose who they befriend, for heaven sakes. There will be hurt feelings; that's the nature of the thing. What's sad about Anders is, he couldn't handle the hurtin'. I expect he never learned how, so he was like an abandoned child in the end. Now what on earth are you tearing up about, Chester?"

" 'Tain't so much him as Phoebe. Did she suffer like Anders done, Doc?"

"No. It was more the Bilious Fever took Phoebe. Times she was delirious, but I kept her sedated and she went peaceful like. Bone-ache was more advanced in Anders."

"Oh, Chester." Kitty patted his arm as he dabbed his eyes with his napkin.

"Matt, you and Chester come see me some time tomorrow," said Doc.

"Naught you kin do for mournin' 'cept give a tonic an' tell me go fishin' when the sun comes out warm, Doc," said Chester. "The tonic bottle you give Mr. Dillon for his sore throat last week is still full. I kin take some a that."

"Throat's about cleared up. Just a little scratchy," said Matt.

Doc shook his head slightly, cut his eyes toward Kitty and gave Matt a keen eye, none of which Kitty missed. Men would go on about the delicacy of women's feelings when it came to such things as venereal disease, but their own feelings seemed to Kitty more delicate than a woman's when it could infect themselves or folks close to them.

The secret sickness was as much a part of life—and death—at the Long Branch as beer and whiskey. Kitty had discussed cases and treatments with Doc at length; they'd talked of it right there at the dinner table in regards to Phoebe and Anders, yet when it might touch Matt and Chester, it became ungentlemanly, and shameful to Kitty's menfolk to speak of before a woman, even a woman like herself.

Kitty saw Matt got Doc's drift at once. Matt appeared unconcerned. As intimately acquainted with illness and death as Doc, Matt was more fearless about just anything than any man Kitty knew.

"We'll stop by tomorrow, Doc," said Matt.

"Why cain't jest Mr. Dillon see ya. I ain't sick," said Chester.

Kitty knew Chester did not understand, and him so modest, too. The mercury was worse than getting checked. Doc would prescribe a week's dosage whether or not signs showed. Matt would take the full dosing, and make Chester take it, too. The stuff was awful. Kitty knew.

"We'll do as Doc says, Chester," said Matt.

"Jest wish betimes I could git the sense of what goes on in yer head, Doc," said Chester. He picked up his fork and mashed the heap of untouched peas on his plate.

Kitty reached over from her chair and rubbed his back. Poor Chester didn't get it at all.

_**C**_************************************************************************************

Though his examination of Matt and Chester revealed no symptoms of the disease that killed Anders and Phoebe, Doc ordered his friends to take one tablet from a bottle of _Triturates Mercury _every day for a week. Within a few hours after the first dose, Matt felt out-of-sorts, tired and clumsy. Not one to take to his bed or even rest from work in the throes of illness, he'd trailed outlaws on the plains and restored order in Dodge with his fists while infected with the grippe or recurrent bouts of fever 'n ague. His body was hardy, and his mind sounder and sharper than the norm, and he resolved to do his job even when the mercury's effects worsened.

Chester suffered more than the marshal. By the third dose of mercury, he was weak and shaky, stumbling and unable to eat. "Tastes like I swallowed a bullet," he complained to Matt.

"I know, Chester," Matt sympathized. "I have the same foul taste, and no appetite either."

"Mr. Dillon, reckon ah'll die if I swallow any more of that poison. Ma breath's comin' short."

Matt looked at Chester lying on his bunk. His face was drawn and grayish, his brown eyes ringed by dark circles.

"Come on, Chester," said Matt.

"Whereabouts? I cain't."

"You'll make it to Doc's."

Matt picked up the bottle of mercury tablets, and Chester commenced shuddering. "Alright, Chester," said Matt. "I'm takin' this back to Doc."

"It's too late for me, maybe," Chester said as they slowly walked to Doc's. "Ah'll pass the time with Phoebe in heaven. The parson visited her on her death bed and prayed with her, so she's there, Mr. Dillon. Phoebe's in heaven."

"Sure, Chester. Sure she is."

"I said ma prayers, myself, too," said Chester.

"Can't go wrong there. But you'll be alright, Chester."

"Ya think so, Mr. Dillon?"

"I know so."

"Reckon yer right. Doc wouldn't give us that stuff iffen it was a danger to kill us."

"Well, of course not," said Matt. He recollected what Kitty told him the night before Doc examined him and Chester and gave them the tablets. Matt and Kitty sat in bed in her room as he drank coffee and she sipped tea. Doc had prescribed a week's mercury dosage to her three separate times since she started working at the Long Branch. "I was bedridden the whole week each time," Kitty said, "plus another three days after I finished the dosage. I went to a watering hole outside Tucson twice to convalesce from mercury poisoning, and once to the seashore near Savannah.

"I suppose you'll weather the treatment alright if you're bound to. You get through anything you set your mind to. But I'm worried about Chester, Matt," said Kitty.

Matt put his arm around her and held her close. "Don't worry, Kitty. I'll keep a close eye on Chester. If it gets too bad, Doc will cut the treatment short."

Now, three tablets into their course, Chester was close to collapse and Matt worried. When they reached Doc's office, he gave Chester a probing look, frowned, shook his head and fluffed his hair, took the bottle of mercury tablets from Matt and returned it to the medicine cabinet. "Set, Chester," said Doc, and Chester sprawled on the recliner.

"Three tablets should be enough to destroy any seed of infection in your blood," said Doc. "Since you and Chester show no symptoms, particular. I'll tend Chester here 'bout two, three days, then you take him fishing for a spell, Matt. Oh, a fortnight or so. Fresh air and sun, rest, peace and quiet. Good as most medicinals and better than some."

"Doc, I can't leave town to go fishin' at planting season with the trail herds comin' through," said Matt.

"Chester oughtn't go alone, and I can't take the time to go with him," said Doc. "What with the mercury treatment, Phoebe's death and getting over that Anders fella hounding him, he has a touch of melancholia."

"Ya dun haveta go with me if you cain't see yer way clear, Mr. Dillon," said Chester. "I kin go to myself. Jest won't be no fun is all."

"Deputize that cheery steady fella you usually hire to run things when you're out of town," said Doc. "What's his name? Kent."

"Kent, huh?" said Matt. Kent was young, vigorous and trustworthy, skilled with his fists and gun, and not too quick or too slow to use either.

The marshal felt almost as ill and tired as Chester looked. Concealing Matt's need for a break from his friends was harder than plowing through his duties.

"Well, if any man can keep order with the cattle drives in town, it's Kent," Matt said. "Quint will help him out."

"Then you 'n me are goin' fishin', Mr. Dillon?" Chester perked up at once, his dulled eyes brightening as he sat up on the recliner. "Oh, please don't make me lay 'bout yer room for no two, three days, Doc. Fresh air an' sun's the best thing; you said so yourself."

"So I did. By golly, Chester. You look stronger already just thinking about the two of you off fishin'. Matt, why don't you round up Kent now. Give him that badge so you and Chester can be on your way before noon," said Doc.

"Take these with you." Doc took bottles of stomach bitters and peppermint, and a big ginger root from his cabinet. "These will fix you up, give you a proper appetite for all that good fish. Chew the root to clean the poison from your blood."

Matt and Chester took doses of bitters and peppermint, cut shavings of ginger root to chew and took their leave of Doc. Chester carried the restoratives in a sack, and sang as they walked Front Street in the warm sunlight.

"_Gonna put on my travelin' shoes down by the riverside_

_Down by the riverside, down by the riverside_

_Gonna put on my travelin' shoes down by the riverside_

_Ain't gonna study war no more." _


End file.
